Chapter 33
Johnny leaned heavily against Kenshi, every step an agonizing effort as they maneuvered through the labyrinth of the enormous laboratory. The red emergency lights strobed overhead, casting eerie shadows along the walls and making the sterile, metallic surfaces of the lab gleam with an almost malevolent shine.
Kenshi supported most of Johnny's weight, his arm wrapped tightly around Johnny's waist. But despite Kenshi's strength and determination, Johnny's struggles were becoming more and more evident.
Johnny gritted his teeth, trying to stifle a pained groan. His left hand hung awkwardly at his side, throbbing with sharp, relentless pain—likely broken from when Kenshi had stepped on it during their earlier fight. But that wasn't the worst of it. His ribs screamed with every breath, and a deep, twisting pain in his abdomen threatened to drop him at any moment.
" Come on, Johnny…" He muttered to himself, " You've had—"
A wave of pain cut Johnny off mid-sentence, causing him to let out a sharp cry and drop to one knee, clutching his side hard. His breathing was shallow and labored, sweat pouring down his face.
Kenshi crouched beside him, panic etched across his features. "Johnny!" he exclaimed, gripping his husband's shoulders to steady him. "What's wrong? What's happening?"
"Nothing," Johnny croaked, forcing a pained smile. "Just… catching my breath."
"You're lying again," Kenshi said, his voice trembling with frustration. "You can't keep this up. Let me help you."
Johnny shook his head stubbornly. "I said I'm fine," he repeated, though his voice was barely above a whisper.
Kenshi hesitated, his instincts screaming at him to push the issue. But Johnny's determination—and his pride—were like iron walls. With a reluctant sigh, Kenshi stood and pulled Johnny to his feet.
"Fine," Kenshi said, though his voice was laced with worry. "But lean on me. No arguments."
Johnny nodded weakly, leaning heavily against Kenshi as they continued through the maze of corridors. But as they pressed on, Johnny subtly lifted the edge of his leather jacket, revealing a gruesome secret he'd been hiding: a large shard of glass embedded deep in his abdomen. Blood seeped around the jagged wound, staining his shirt and jacket a dark crimson.
He bit his lip hard to suppress a groan, his vision blurring with pain. The shard must have been lodged there since Kenshi had thrown him into the glass capsule earlier, but in the chaos of the fight, Johnny had barely registered it. Now, though, every step sent fiery agony coursing through his body.
Finally, they reached what looked like an exit—a heavy metal door with a glowing panel beside it. Kenshi pushed it open, revealing a long hallway that led to freedom. But just as the cool air hit Johnny's face, he dropped to his knees again, his strength giving out completely.
"Johnny!" Kenshi exclaimed, kneeling beside him. "What's wrong? Talk to me!"
Johnny waved him off weakly. "It's nothing," he muttered, though his voice cracked with pain.
"No more lies," Kenshi said firmly. Before Johnny could protest, Kenshi gently lifted the edge of his leather jacket—and froze at the sight of the glass shard embedded in Johnny's abdomen.
"Johnny…" Kenshi breathed, his voice trembling with a mixture of shock and horror. "What the hell? When did this happen?"
Johnny gave him a weak, sad smile. "When you threw me into that damn glass capsule. Hell of a throw, by the way."
Kenshi's face twisted with guilt, his hands hovering uncertainly near the wound. "Why didn't you say anything?"
Johnny forced a weak chuckle. "Didn't… seem like… the right time. We had… you know… explosions and Yakuza to deal with. Plus…" Johnny coughed weakly, " I didn't want… you to blame… yourself."
Kenshi's heart sank. The realization hit him like a punch to the gut. He had done this—however unintentional, it was still his fault. His grip on Johnny's arm tightened, his knuckles turning white. "I did this to you," he said, his voice heavy with regret, "I'm so sorry, Johnny. I didn't—"
"Hey," Johnny said softly, placing his good hand over Kenshi's. " Don't do that, Ken-doll. You weren't you, remember? This isn't your fault." He coughed, and a trickle of blood ran down the corner of his mouth.
Kenshi shook his head, his expression pained. "That doesn't change the fact that you're bleeding out because of me."
" D-Doesn't… matter… Still not your fault…"
Kenshi didn't seem convinced. He reached out, pressing his hands gently around the wound to assess the damage. Johnny coughed weakly, blood staining his lips as his head fell back against the wall.
"You're bleeding too much," Kenshi said, panic creeping into his tone. "We need to stop it now."
Johnny forced a weak smile. "There's medical supplies in this lab, right? Just grab some bandages and whatever else you can find. I'll be fine here."
Kenshi shook his head, his grip tightening on Johnny's arm. "I'm not leaving you."
"You don't have a choice," Johnny said, his tone tinged with frustration. "We need those supplies. I'll be here waiting for you. I'm not going anywhere."
Kenshi hesitated, torn between the urgency of stopping the bleeding and the fear of leaving Johnny alone in his weakened state.
Kenshi's ancestors spoke to him, their voices calm and reassuring. "We'll stay with him, Kenshi. Go and find what you need. He'll be safe."
Johnny looked up, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "See? I've got company. Go."
Kenshi reluctantly stood, his hand lingering on Johnny's shoulder for a moment before he turned and disappeared into the shadows of the lab.
As Kenshi moved away, his ancestors turned their attention to Johnny. "You're stubborn," one of them said, a mix of amusement and reproach in their tone.
"Part of my charm," Johnny rasped, wincing as he shifted against the wall.
"You need to stop hiding your injuries from Kenshi," another ancestor said. "He blames himself for all of this. Hiding only deepens his guilt."
Johnny's expression softened, his eyes filled with a weary sadness. "I know. I just... I don't want him carrying all that weight. He's been through enough."
"So have you," the ancestor replied. "But you're a team. If you keep things from him, it only makes things harder for both of you."
Johnny groaned but forced his eyes to stay open, focusing on the faint sound of Kenshi's footsteps echoing through the lab. He had to hold on. For Kenshi. For them both.
Johnny sat slumped against a wall. His breathing was shallow, labored, each rise and fall of his chest pulling against the glass shard embedded deep in his abdomen.
He held a trembling hand over the wound, trying to apply pressure, but his strength was waning. His broken hand throbbed with a relentless, searing pain, swollen and useless at his side.
Kenshi's ancestors spoke to him, their ethereal voices calm but firm, grounding him as he drifted dangerously close to unconsciousness.
"Johnny Cage, you cannot let yourself falter now. Kenshi needs you. You have come too far to die here."
Johnny chuckled weakly, though it turned into a painful cough. "Yeah, well, my body's not exactly taking requests right now."
"Your will has carried you through worse," another ancestor said. "Focus on that. Focus on Kenshi. He is free because of you. He is alive because of you."
Johnny leaned his head back against the wall, his vision blurring. "Not sure how much longer I can... keep my eyes open."
"You must," the ancestors urged. "You are his anchor. He is yours. If you falter now, so will he."
Johnny groaned, his hand pressing against the shard in his abdomen. The pain was excruciating, but it was also the only thing keeping him tethered to consciousness.
"Great pep talk, guys," he muttered. "Really motivational. But a nap sounds pretty good right about now."
"No," one ancestor said sharply. "You cannot give in. Look at how far you have come. You have faced death before. This is no different. Fight, Johnny Cage."
Johnny closed his eyes for a moment, his mind flashing with memories of Kenshi. Their quiet nights together, their laughter, their shared dreams—and then the moment he lost him. The rage, the heartbreak, and the determination that had brought him here flooded back, giving him a spark of energy.
"I didn't... come this far to lose him," Johnny murmured, forcing his eyes open again.
"Then stay awake. Fight for him."
Johnny gritted his teeth, his hand trembling as he reached for the broken shard in his side. He didn't pull it out—he knew better than that—but the sharp pain refocused his mind, forcing him to stay present.
The minutes dragged on, each second feeling like an eternity. He could hear faint noises in the distance—Kenshi's hurried footsteps, the faint clash of metal as he searched for the supplies.
"Kenshi... better hurry up," Johnny said to himself, his voice barely audible.
The ancestors' voices grew softer, almost like a soothing chant. "Stay with us, Johnny. Hold on. Kenshi will return. You are stronger than you know."
Johnny chuckled faintly despite the pain. "Stronger, huh? Tell that to my ribs."
But he stayed awake. Barely. For Kenshi. For himself. For the chance to finish what they'd started together.
Then he heard Footsteps.
Johnny's head jerked up weakly as Kenshi appeared, his figure framed in the dim light of the lab. He carried an assortment of medical supplies—gauze, bandages, antiseptic—all hastily scavenged from the wreckage of the lab's medical wing. Kenshi's expression was tense, his blindfolded eyes betraying the deep worry he felt.
"Kenshi," Johnny croaked, his voice barely above a whisper. "Took you... long enough."
Kenshi knelt beside him, setting the supplies down and carefully inspecting Johnny's injuries. His hand hovered over the glass shard in Johnny's abdomen, his jaw tightening as he took in the extent of the damage.
"This is bad," Kenshi murmured. "The shard... I have to remove it, Johnny. But you'll lose blood faster when I do."
Johnny gave a weak chuckle, though it came out more like a wheeze. "Sounds like a fun time... but I trust you."
Kenshi hesitated, his hand trembling ever so slightly. "This will hurt, Johnny. A lot."
Johnny nodded, his lips curling into a faint smirk despite the pain. "Wouldn't expect anything less... Just do it."
Kenshi swallowed hard, steadying himself. "Alright. On three."
Johnny's voice was dry, but his humor remained intact. "Don't even think about doing it on two."
Kenshi didn't respond, but he gripped the shard firmly. "One... two... three."
With one swift motion, Kenshi pulled the shard from Johnny's abdomen.
Johnny's scream tore through the air, raw and agonizing. His body arched against the wall as the pain overwhelmed him, a blinding, white-hot intensity that made his vision blur. Blood poured from the wound, faster now, pooling beneath him.
"Kenshi!" one of the ancestors urged. "Apply pressure immediately!"
Kenshi was already moving. He pressed a thick wad of gauze against the wound, applying firm, steady pressure as Johnny sagged back against the wall, panting heavily.
"Stay with me, Johnny," Kenshi said, his voice tight with urgency.
"Easier... said than done," Johnny muttered weakly, though his eyes fluttered dangerously.
Kenshi worked quickly, his hands steady despite the panic surging through him. He layered gauze over the wound, securing it tightly with bandages, all while murmuring words of encouragement to Johnny.
"You're doing great," Kenshi said, though his own heart was pounding. "Just a little longer."
Once the abdominal wound was dressed as best as possible, given the circumstances, Kenshi turned his attention to Johnny's broken hand. The sight of it made him wince—the swelling was severe, and the discoloration suggested multiple fractures.
" Your hand…" Kenshi began, his tone heavy with concern. "I need to stabilize it. It'll hurt."
Johnny huffed weakly, trying to shrug. "At this point... what's a little more pain?"
Kenshi carefully wrapped the broken hand with bandages, using splints he improvised from the supplies to stabilize the bones. Johnny hissed and groaned with every movement, his face contorted in pain, but he didn't pull away.
When Kenshi finished, he sat back on his heels, his hands trembling slightly as he looked at his work. Johnny was pale, his breaths shallow, but he was alive.
"Kenshi," Johnny whispered, his voice barely audible.
"Yes sweetheart," Kenshi said, leaning closer.
Johnny managed a weak grin. "You're pretty good at this... ever think about med school?"
Kenshi let out a breathless chuckle, his expression softening despite the dire situation. "I think I'll stick to swordsmanship."
Johnny closed his eyes for a moment, his grin fading. "Thanks... for not giving up on me."
Kenshi placed a hand on Johnny's shoulder, his grip firm with tears in his blindfolded eyes, "Give up on you… Johnny, I would never give up on you or us. I should be the one thank you for not giving me."
" How about this?" Johnny weakly coughs. " When we get out of here alive, we can thank each other for everything we want. Deal?"
Kenshi kissed Johnny on the forehead. " Deal. Now, " he said, looking around. We need to get you up."
" If you say so…" Johnny whispered.
Kenshi crouched beside Johnny, his hands steady as he gently slipped one arm under Johnny's shoulders. He was careful not to disturb the hastily bandaged wound on Johnny's abdomen or the splint supporting his broken hand. Kenshi's other hand gripped Sento, its blade an ever-present reminder of the battles yet to come.
"Ready?" Kenshi asked, his voice low and calm, though his heart raced with worry.
Johnny nodded, his face pale and lined with pain. "Yeah," he rasped. "Let's move before I start thinking this floor's comfortable."
Kenshi adjusted his grip, slowly lifting Johnny to his feet. A sharp hiss escaped Johnny's lips as pain flared in his ribs and abdomen, but he bit down on a groan, refusing to show weakness. His good hand gripped Kenshi's shoulder tightly for support, his knuckles white.
"I've got you," Kenshi murmured, steadying Johnny as he swayed.
Johnny let out a shaky laugh, trying to mask his discomfort. "You always do." He straightened slightly, attempting to bear more of his own weight. "I can walk. Just… don't let me fall."
Kenshi gave a slight nod, his lips pressed into a thin line. "I won't."
The two of them began their trek through the dimly lit cellar corridors, Kenshi guiding Johnny with deliberate care. The air was cold and damp, carrying the faint scent of mildew and rusted metal. Their footsteps echoed in the silence, a rhythmic reminder of the danger that still lurked around every corner.
"I know where we need to go," Johnny said suddenly, his voice strained but confident. "There's a staircase that leads straight to a secret door in Haroshi's office."
Kenshi turned his head slightly, frowning in surprise. "Haroshi's office? How do you know that?"
Johnny smirked, though the effort made him wince. "When I was looking for you," he explained, his words clipped as he fought through the pain, "I stumbled into Haroshi's office. Big, gaudy thing."
Despite himself, Kenshi couldn't suppress the faint flicker of amusement. "That sounds like him," he muttered.
Johnny continued, "There's a secret door behind one of the bookcases. Leads to a set of stairs. I didn't have time to figure out where they went because, well… I had to come save your ass." He shot Kenshi a teasing glance, though his exhaustion dulled the usual edge of his humor.
Kenshi arched an eyebrow. "Are you sure about this? The last thing we need is a dead end."
Johnny's smirk faded, replaced by a rare seriousness. "I'm sure. It's the only way out that doesn't involve a million guards. Trust me on this."
Kenshi nodded, his grip on Johnny tightening slightly. "All right," he said, his voice steady. "We'll try it. But if this doesn't work, I'm carrying you out of here another way."
It wasn't long before they reached the base of the staircase Johnny had described. The steps were steep and narrow, disappearing into the shadows above. Kenshi glanced at Johnny, his expression grim. "This isn't going to be easy."
"Nothing about this has been easy," Johnny replied, his lips curving into a faint smirk. "Let's just get it over with."
With Kenshi supporting most of his weight, Johnny took the first step. It was slow going, each movement sending fresh waves of pain through his battered body. Kenshi matched Johnny's pace, his arm steady around his waist as they ascended the stairs one painstaking step at a time.
The journey felt endless, the air growing heavier with each passing moment. Johnny's breaths came in short gasps, his vision blurring, but he refused to stop. Kenshi's presence beside him was a lifeline, grounding him, urging him to keep going.
"You're doing good," Kenshi said softly, his voice a steady anchor in the darkness. "Just a little further."
Johnny grunted in response, his focus narrowed to the simple act of putting one foot in front of the other. Sweat dripped down his face, mingling with the blood that had dried along his jaw. He gritted his teeth, refusing to let the pain consume him.
Finally, they reached the top, both men panting from the exertion. Kenshi helped Johnny lean against the wall for support while he turned to inspect the massive, ornately carved wooden door before them.
"Haroshi's office," Johnny said, his voice faint but triumphant. "Told you I knew the way."
Kenshi gave him a slight, approving nod. "You did good, Johnny," he admitted," You did good."
